


Dada

by capitalistrodent



Series: Promise [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Pain, as if canon wasn’t painful enough already here i am about to punish myself and everyone even more!, spoilers for S2E08: The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalistrodent/pseuds/capitalistrodent
Summary: Din experiences the ironic sheer joy of fatherhood as he gazes at his son’s face for the last time:Grogu’s very first word.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Series: Promise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067696
Comments: 71
Kudos: 508





	Dada

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissKitsune08](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKitsune08/gifts), [cathouse_mary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/gifts).



> Horrible surprise gift for MissKitsune08 and cathouse_mary because I'm a terrible person and misery loves company. Merry Christmas! *cries*
> 
> Major spoilers for S2E08 of The Mandalorian! Beware!
> 
> Why is it that whenever I try to fix things and write fluff I just break stuff even more? Send help 😩

The blast doors opened with a groan and they revealed the smoke and carnage from the recent battle, along with a bright, glowing green rod— akin to those that Ahsoka Tano on Calodan wielded.

A lightsaber.

The weapon of a _Jedi._

Still, Din wanted to make sure. “Are you a Jedi?”

“I am,” the young man— the Jedi— said. He looked younger than Din, his flaxen hair modestly cut and neatly combed, but his voice held a kind of maturity well beyond his years seemed to merit.

A maturity shaped by war and loss. It was something the Mandalorian knew all too well.

Din knew what he should’ve felt at that moment. This was what he'd been waiting and looking for. A Jedi to train Grogu to use his special powers— powers that Din didn’t possess. He was a skilled warrior in his own right, but how could he help the kid reach his potential when he himself didn’t understand exactly what it was?

The Jedi did, and all of them inside that room had seen what he could do with their own eyes. The young man had sliced through the Dark Troopers like they were nothing but dojo dummies. He deflected blaster bolts and crushed strong metal into uselessness with nothing but the strength of his own mind.

Din still didn’t understand what the hell the Force was, but this man obviously did. He might not be able to feel things through that medium like Force-wielders could, but he knew power when he saw it. As he looked at the Jedi, he saw the future.

He saw what Grogu could become, with the proper training he deserved.

The little green womp rat slowly but surely had him wrapped around his little clawed finger, and he would’ve given the kid the universe, would’ve destroyed armies and empires for him. Broke his Creed, even. But even with all that, it wouldn't be enough. This was a kind of care that he couldn’t provide.

Din knew what he should’ve felt at that moment. Joy, at finally finding a Jedi who would train the kid. Gratitude, for saving them from the Dark Troopers. Relief, now that his quest was complete and he would be free to do as he pleased without the responsibility of caring for another being, just like before.

Din knew what he should’ve felt, but what he _did_ feel was nowhere close to any of that.

He only felt pain like he’d accidentally impaled himself on his beskar spear. And also, a profound sense of loss, gnawing deeper into his core and chipping away at him and his resolve with each passing second.

This was the moment they had all risked their lives for, so why didn’t it feel like success?

The Jedi held out a hand to Grogu, who was peeking behind a chair. “Come, little one,” he said gently.

Turning around, Din saw Grogu grip the back of the chair hesitantly, looking up at him with those wide and innocent eyes, a soft coo escaping his little mouth.

Perhaps...

”He doesn’t want to go with you.”

Din could swear he saw understanding and a hint of pity in the Jedi’s blue eyes, like he’d read the wishful hope buried in his heart. And with his powers, maybe he actually did.

“He wants your permission. He is strong with the Force, but talent without training is nothing.”

The gnawing in his armor-clad chest grew stronger tenfold.

“I will give my life to protect the Child,” the Jedi continued, a reassurance and reassertion at the same time, “but he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Oh, Din already knew that, but it didn’t change a karking thing— didn’t make him feel any better about what he had to do.

 _A foundling is in your care,_ the Armorer once said. _By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father._

All his life he had followed the Way and lived by the Creed. No exceptions. Until the Child came into his life and showed him another Way, and made a place for himself in an undiscovered chamber of Din’s heart just like he’d claimed the hammock back on the Razor Crest.

Time was running out and he had to make it count. As he picked up the kid to cradle him for quite possibly the last time, he mulled over his words, choosing each of them carefully. Though whether it was to convince and console the kid or himself, he didn’t exactly know.

“Hey, go on,” Din said, and he knew his voice betrayed the cracks in his proverbial armor. “That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind.”

_Unlike me._

The Child looked up at him with watery eyes, and another chink in his armor was laid bare, exposing a glimmer of his own hope for all to see. “I’ll see you again. I promise.”

Mandalorians took their promises with utmost seriousness, even to their death. That was the Way. Idly, he wondered if turning his hope into conviction was a sort of crutch for him to keep himself from breaking apart into nothing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He'd lost his family once already. Now he was going to lose his kid, and he couldn’t bear to lose any more of himself if he was to be able to go on.

But, in his own guileless way, Grogu broke him with a single coo and a gentle touch on his helmet.

The kid wanted to memorize his face, just as Din was memorizing his for the last time in a long time. With childlike wonder, the kid imprinted each groove in his shiny helmet to memory, trying to look into his visor for a glimpse of the man he considered as a father.

And it was then that Din knew it couldn’t end like this. With a shaking hand but nary a single hint of guilt or hesitation, he took off his helmet and met the kid’s— his _son_ , his _boy_ — eyes with his own soft, brown ones.

No barriers. Just a Mandalorian and the Child. One foundling to another. A father and his son.

Tears blurred his vision but he blinked them away. He wanted the clearest image possible tattooed on his mind, always ready to be called upon before he rested his head each night. Something to draw strength from during hardship, until the time came for them to be reunited in this life or the next.

The childlike wonder on Grogu’s face made it all worth it. His little mouth opened in surprise and his huge eyes darted all over his features, and Din wanted to laugh. But he didn’t— he couldn't— because he was sure his laughter would devolve quickly into sobs.

Grogu reached out his tiny hand to touch his face again, and the feeling of another being’s touch on his bare skin was too much to take that Din could do nothing else but close his eyes. He’d never been good at concealing his facial expressions (his helmet always did that for him) and he wished his son knew just how much this meant to him.

Just how much _he_ meant to him.

He might not be able to feel through the Force, but as he cradled his kid close to his chest, seeing each other face-to-face for the first and last time, he knew that Grogu knew. They had never needed words before, and words weren’t needed now.

“All right, pal. It’s time to go.” The Child whined and he felt his heart cease to beat. “Don’t be afraid,” Din said, for both their sakes again. And with a small nod, he set the kid down on the floor and on to his new Way.

Grogu clung to his leg for dear life, clearly not willing to let him go, begging to be taken back into the safety of his arms, and Din seriously considered breaking his Creed once more. He’d done it twice for the kid already; what was another addition to his list of transgressions? _Until he is of age or reunited with his own kind,_ the quest entailed. If he refused to give up the kid, then he could still fulfill it in another way. Right?

 _But would you be able to live with that? Of depriving him of this opportunity?_ a voice at the back of his mind asked him.

Din sighed inwardly as weary resignation settled deep into his bones. No. No, he wouldn’t be able to.

An astromech rolled in and captured the Child’s fascination. He’d always loved shiny things, Din mused fondly as he watched the kid waddle his way to the beeping droid. At least he would have someone to play with and keep him company. Perhaps even better company that he would’ve been, he thought sadly.

The Jedi caught his eye and nodded, and he acknowledged it with a nod of his own, imploring with his eyes what he couldn’t say out loud.

_Take good care of him, please. And let him know how much I care for him._

“May the Force be with you,” the Jedi said as he picked the Child up, then he turned to leave.

Din watched as Grogu drew farther away from him, the kid craning his neck to look over the Jedi’s shoulder as he was taken away. Hot tears stung at his eyes once again, and the image in front of him blurred into incoherence. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

He blinked them away again, and as he gazed at his son’s face for the last time as they entered the lift, he was rewarded with perhaps the cruelest gift the universe could possibly give him.

“Dada,” Grogu cooed in his sweet little voice, tinged with heartbreak.

Din couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe._ Somewhere behind him, his companions gasped. Even the Jedi’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at his new charge.

“Dada,” Grogu said, louder and more plaintive this time, demanding to be heard. To be taken back.

Din started forward, an involuntary motion caused by parental instinct. He wanted to jump for joy at his son’s first milestone and tell him _Good job, buddy! Say that again!_

“Dada.” That was the third, and this time it sounded like a farewell.

Three times before he went away. Three, like the fingers in his little hand. Three, like the words Din wanted to shout at the top of his lungs before they were separated for good.

Instead, he nodded, eyes shining with tears and fierce pride, and smiled at Grogu.

The kid knew how he felt. He’d always been a smart boy.

The lift door slid to a close, and just like that, they were gone.

Time stood still. No sound, no movement, nothing. Din could hear his heart pounding in his ears, surprised that it was still working. Then, absently, his hand went to his belt and retrieved the beskar ball.

Grogu’s favorite toy. He’d forgotten to give it to him.

_Grogu._

His hand clenched around the only thing he had left of his son, pouring all of his pain and heartbreak into it, willing it to ground him before he collapsed under the sheer weight of his grief.

 _A foundling is in your care,_ the Armorer once said. _By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father._

“This is the Way,” he mouthed to himself silently over and over again. They were nothing but empty words to him right now, offering no guidance or comfort.

For the Way was obscure with no clear path in sight. What was a Mandalorian to be, once he had fulfilled the greatest quest of his life?

What was a Father to be, once his Child was gone?

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW IM SO SORRY I HATE ME TOO *shakes fists at the sky* WHYYYYYY FIX IT DISNEY!


End file.
